Page 14 of Enemies to Lobsters
I shake my head. “He has a girlfriend.”
He doesn’t.
“Okay.” Stevie stares at the ceiling, thinking. “Oh!Adam.” She waves her hand to jog my memory. “You know, Adam what’s-his-name.”
“The guy who works for the Forest Service?” I say with disgust. Those eggs are churning in my stomach. Forest Service Adam isn’t at all right for Diana. “He never wears a shirt.”
“I do not want to get married,” Diana reminds us, emphasizing every word.
Stevie’s eyes are bright. “You will when you see Adam.”
I growl. The eyes of both women snap to mine.
I straighten my ball cap. “I’ll do it,” I say like it’s no big deal. I feel Diana’s gaze on me. I meet her eyes, and the knot in my stomach untangles. “I’m doing it.”
Stevie looks pleased with herself.
“No.” Diana shakes her head aggressively, making her hair swish around her shoulders. “That wouldn’t… Just no.”
Rich peoplearecrazy. “Are you serious? It’s essentially free money. So we have to live under the same roof for a while? We’llput masking tape down the middle of the house, and in a year the lighthouse will be fixed.” Why am I trying so hard to talk her into this?
Because you want the lighthouse fixed, I lie to myself.Not because you can’t stand the idea of Diana marrying Shirtless Adam.
“It makes sense, Di.” Stevie shrugs, playing it cool. She isn’t concealing her excitement well. She’s missed her friend. “Think about it. The lighthouse. Tom Selleck. Getting yourjoie de vivreback. Come on.”
Tom Selleck?
Diana shoves Stevie’s leg and mutters, “You are not a vault.” But something in her expression changes. The wheels are turning. She’s picturing it. Seeing the logic of it. The corners of her mouth turn up slowly.
“Come on, Princess.” I prod her.
She shuts my mouth with a glare. “I’ll do it on one condition.”
Wait, she’s making conditions? I’m doing her a favor here. This got turned around fast. “What?”
She arches that eyebrow, and her red lips almost smile. “No more calling me Princess.”
∞∞∞
That evening I drive out to the lighthouse with Boone and a bag of takeout from Marlow’s on the seat between us. It’s my standard Saturday night: Italian subs with my ten-year-old neighbor. We take turns at our favorite spots. Sometimes we go to the parking area overlooking the lighthouse, and sometimes I take him to the firehouse to sit in the truck. He loves the big, redrig and all of the controls. Plus, it’s only a few blocks from their place, which is convenient if he has a meltdown.
Boone was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder as a toddler and is minimally verbal. Our standing sandwich night makes it possible for his parents to have some much-needed down time, and I don’t mind the quiet company. It’s a welcome break after a henpecked week. Plus, I have some thinking to do.
I park my truck at the edge of the parking lot, and Boone doesn’t waste any time. He mumbles something that almost sounds like the word sandwich.
I chuckle. “You’re hungry today.”
He just looks at the steering wheel with his big, brown eyes and waits for me to dig his Italian out of the brown paper bag. I unwrap his sub, situating it on the paper in his lap. “There ya go, buddy. Eat up.”
Boone ignores me, per his usual, attacking his food like a velociraptor. It’s one of the only things he’ll eat, though calling it an Italian is generous. He takes his sandwich with ham and cheese only.
I stare out at the lighthouse, making one-sided conversation while we eat. “I’m getting married, Boone,” I think out loud. I take another bite, remembering the surreal morning while I chew. “To Diana York,” I say around my sandwich with a heavy measure of trepidation.
I continue monologuing to Boone, who never seems to mind being my sounding board. “As of Monday I will be legally married to The Diana York. Will marrying Princess Diana make me a prince?” I snort. Hardly. “Fixing this lighthouse will score me some major points with the people of Cape Georgeana, and hopefully get this town into a lovely territory I like to call ‘The Black.’ We’ve been in the red for a long time.”
But the whole marriage thing is happening so fast, leaving no time for me or Diana to back out. That's the vibe I gotfrom Charles’ email, anyway. Diana forwarded the conditions from her grandparents this afternoon. They move quickly when they're after something they want. And what they want is marriage for their granddaughter.
We’ll be legally wed and living under the same leaky roof, but it’s essentially a business arrangement. I’m meeting Diana at the county courthouse on Monday morning at nine.
